Welcome to SQUAD WEEK. What is a girl squad? From whence did they come? And why should we give a flock? All week long ELLE.com is exploring the covenant of one of the trendiest forms of social currency: gal pals.

As anyone who's ever peeped a Taylor Swift "ussie" can tell you, there's real power in a girl squad. But while divining the strategic alliances of such unions can make for entertaining fan-fic, there's real science to sequencing the raddest girl crew. The company we keep must also—within reason—be about keeping up appearances. Friendship Darwinism is real, people. And by that I'm not implying that you must nix childhood friends in order to sidle up to acquaintances with aspirational follower counts but rather that it's plain smart to consider your friends as your starting line-up.

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Your girl crew is a reflection of you. And, unlike your family, you can choose them with your own best interests in mind. Not to say that all friendship is business. Nothing would be more tedious than exclusively hanging out with colleagues and tiresome gadflies who constantly jockey for position in "the industry." But there is something to be said for applying a certain analytical tension to every relationship you nurture. Bleep bloop.

"If you are the Beyoncé of the group, you probably need a better group."

In the Karl Lagerfeld documentary, Lagerfeld Confidential, the sleek, silver-haired designer coolly reveals his governing principle toward the cast of characters that comprise his besties, "You need a sword of Damocles hanging over a relationship," he says. "That shows how good it is." And for those who need to brush-up on their Dionysian bedtime stories, the TL;DR (too long; didn't read) version of it is this: If you are the Beyoncé of the group, you probably need a better group. Frittering precious time fostering relationships with women who aren't leveling up in work, aspirations, or self-actualization can be an energy blackhole. And as otherwise eye-rolly as the Choupette-stroking, unrepentant megalomaniac's proclamations about matters such as body image are, Lagerfeld's on the money about how those closest to you should view your relationship as valuable and vice versa. The vice versa here is clutch.

You know how guy squads always have that one dude for whom no one can vouch? He's shady as hell, selfish, volatile, and treats all women like garbage—shortcomings that they all happily cop to and struggle with—yet they refuse to ditch him because they've known him forever? Women have enough bullshit to deal with (read: dudes duding) and by dint of not being a dude, we simply don't have the luxury of dead weight. Loyalty is one thing, but if you're constantly dragging a half-trampled wildebeest through the crossing, you're never going to ford the choppy waters of indignity that is life.

People who don't inspire us or bolster us must be annexed to the quantum orbit outside of our true girl squad. Your friends are not your selfish, hormone-stricken daughters. Requiring heavy lifting from your confidantes is never too much to ask. They're your support system! And, as such, gently unsubscribing from anyone who isn't up to snuff should be above reproach. Don't jettison them noisily with a laundry list of grievances (nobody likes a friendship power Yelper); just quietly demote them with an appropriately long fade and go about your business. This is doubly true if you do creative work. Much of the food on your table is contingent upon tenuous imprimaturs. You have a reputation to uphold and your most visible friends contribute or detract from this.

My best friends, at least the ones that squad up frequently (my outliers are also of vital importance but I go to them for specialized one-on-one hangs or particular advice), are not writers. One is in photography and the other in food. But both are highly respected in their fields, and if there is ever any colleague crossover, I don't have to worry about the law of transitive properties. There is never any risk in my vouching for them implicitly. My friends are clever, decent people. Goodness is a fundamental requirement. I only hang out with people who can do something for me. And do it well.

Of course there's also value in random friends of the colleague ilk. Those with whom you exchange countless e-mail chains in the course of your career, the familiar faces you air kiss with true enthusiasm at work functions to share gossip, secrets, and the occasional dinner and cocktails. But know this: If you can't imagine inviting them into your real social circle, don't. Oblige the quid pro quo of professional favors, but otherwise keep it moving. Nothing is more patently distasteful than coming in hot—going so far as planning trips together and/or texting compulsively about personal matters—only to go ghost once that person switches jobs and can no longer "hook it up." Like with any other business exchange, ethics here are mandatory.

So, sure, you can sit with me and my squad. Anyone can sit with us. It's just that we can't stay. There's a bottle of tequila and some serious scheming and plotting elsewhere that needs our attention. We're sure you understand.